Apocalypse: Britain
by Gunnersam
Summary: Oscar Firebrand, Small time smuggler and psychopath, is forced to take a journey across the ruins of Great Britain years after the apocalypse. Why? To kill\capture the AWOL Chief of army, William Kurtz. Will he conquer his demons? Or slide further away from his already lacking humanity...
1. London Traffic

Oscar's Pov:

I've finally found the SOB. The only thought my brain can rationalize as I walk briskly through the crowded streets. Doyle Cravitch, the Scottish arms dealer, was mine. I'd paid him to supply me with those weapons, and yet he stabbed me in the back.

Bastard.

My mind wanders, and I picture all the… delicious… ways I could kill him.

I continue to walk, casually observing my surroundings. Damn, London's gone to hell in the last 20 years. Some aspects hadn't changed, such as the hookers on the corners, the drugs in the alleyways etc. Just same shit different day. The differences were fairly obvious though. The dilapidated state of the buildings, which clearly hadn't been maintained since before the world went to hell, the groups of men, women of children being led out of buildings, at gunpoint, by the army, and shot for being a 'terrorist'. Still, better them than me.

Turning a corner, I can see more military presence as I nearly walk into a military roadblock. Judging by the abundance of Gas masks looks like they found a Buggar, one of those poor basterds who've breathed in the spores. Makes me think of how the world went to shit. Some research base over in America accidentally released the stuff, a local town breathed it in, died, and then the spore's used their bodies to release more spores. Those spores went into the atmosphere, were breathed in again, and spread global. Or at least, that's what the army said in a press conference. Who knows what really went down?

Reawakening from my thoughts, I prepare to walk through the Oxford street checkpoint. Fake ID, of course. Can't have the army knowing that Oscar Firebrand is back? Ok, slightly romantic and bigheaded view for a small-time smuggler, but hey, why not?

"Oi, get your head out the clouds, got a queue here!" shouts some trooper next to me. Seems i've arrived at the checkpoint. I picture turning to the soldier, and clawing his throat out with my teeth, in front of all these people.

" Sorry, long day" I reply as I hand him my ID giving him my best apologetic look.

"Look, don't apologies to me, apologies to them behind you, now fuck off"

All too easy. Act like an idiot, get treated like one, and get through quickly. Nice. And hey, if the apocalypse turns you into a psychopath, no harm no foul? Right?

I walk down the street for a few moments, and then duck in to an alley. The alleys slightly overgrown, with pools and weeds everywhere, and graffiti plastering the wall. Still, it leads to my goal. Apartment block 3374. Deep in the red light district of the safe zone, and so close to the wall you can see the watchtowers keeping us in.

Its also a hub of military Raids for 'terrorists', that much it's been known for the military to park their vehicles and go for a walk first, meaning that I may have the army breathing down my Neck at any moment once this is over, or even during, but as long as I'm quick, I'll be fine.

I turn the last corner, preparing to observe the apartment block, and… shit. All around the area, there's a load of humvee's. The army must be doing a raid. It's also blocking my way.

Damn, why can't the army be predictable like they used to be.

* * *

><p>I glance around, searching for an alternative route. Eventually, I decide on either the roof or underground. The sound of a helicopter, and the sound of men talking and joking make my choice for me. Looks like I'm going underground.<p>

Before the military come back to their vehicles, I dash to the middle of the road, and grab the manhole cover I can see. Weighs a ton, but I get it up, and descend into the inky darkness below me, ensuring my gas mask is no longer in my satchel, but resting on my head.

I climb down the ladder, holding my breath. Quite a few of the sewers in this town-well, safe zone-are flooded with the spores. No idea how or why, but their there. Buggars, maybe? As I reach the bottom rung, I'm confident to take a breath. The spores have a weird green glow in low light areas. Quite spooky at night. And there certainly isn't any light here.

I strain my ears before I continue down the tunnel, listening for the sound of any of those clicking sons of bitches. I've heard stories of them getting into the sewers before, sometimes the army purges them, sometimes it falls to people like me to do it. And I'll be damned if I'm being taken out due to carelessness.

I was waiting, listening by the ladder, for around a minute before I activate my flashlight, and make my way down the tunnel, satisfied that there aren't any nasty surprises from the shrooms. I've planned for any eventuality, so I already know where to go, and I eventually find myself at the appropriate ladder. I gaze at it for a moment, take a deep breath, and climb it, up into the apartment block.

Turns out to lead to a manhole just outside the building. Everythings quiet. I don't like it, but I continue round the side of the building, trying to find a drainpipe to climb. However, the one I find is too low. My contact told me it went up 5 floors of the 6 there, but instead it's been cut down to , that'll have to do.

I climb up it steadily: ever conscious of the weak plastic, till I reach the third floor window. It's closed, and i'm forced to smash the glass, hoping Doyle doesn't hear it. If he did then I'm fucked. I shake those thoughts out of my head, and I climb through the window into a room devoid of Furnishings. The only thing in there is a man hanging from his neck by a power cord ripped from the ceiling. Wonderful. Wonder how he got there.

I walk past the body, giving it hardly a thought. I've seen the kind of thing all too much (caused it as well), and I open the door, stepping into a dark corridor. The walls were plastered with yet more graffiti, and the only light other than my flashlight is from a flickering lamp at the bottem of the corridor to my left. The stench of faeces is also rather prevalent.

If I remember the plans correctly, there should be a stairwell in the next corridor, so I make my way toward it. All I can think is how this whole scenario doesn't really make sense. Why is Doyle here? In this dump? He dosen't know I'm coming for him, and he's a big shot with the army, having kissed their arse god knows how many times, so he tends to be in the good accommodation next to the river wall. Something doen't add up, it's like my spider sense is tingling. Maybe he can tell me why during the long, ardous death I have planned for him? That or I'm just reading into this too much…

It's then I fall through a hole in the floor. What is this, some kind of comedy?

"Nice o' yae to drop in laddie" is the voice I hear while dazed. Shit this gets worse. Doyle Cravitch, the son of a bitch, knew I was coming.

Well, i'm screwed.

* * *

><p>I try to get up, vision still too fucked to see straight, but someone kicks me in the ribs. It feels like my chest is on fire, and I fall back down.<p>

"Tell me laddie, is it rude for yae guests to get up, and walk aboot? Aye, it is" Doyle says, lighting a lamp, illuminating his features. He's practically your average highlander, with a beard, smell and everthing. Other than that, the man was dressed with some Army issue fatigues, looking stupid with some white trainers to complete the look. And, curiously, he was unarmed.

Looking around, the lamp illuminates the room I'm now in. Bare, just like the room upstairs, other than the ruined sofa that Doyle is sitting on. The lamp also illuminates the guy who kicked me. He's got short black hair, clean shaven face… wait…

" You're my fucking informant!" I yell at him, practicly spitting out the words."You set me up!"The thug continues to stare at me, and says nothing. Doyle starts to laugh hysterically at my predicament, and I turn my angry eyes back to him. My vision isn't so screwed now, and I start looking for a way out. My own 9mm is in my satchel on my back, but I'll never get to it in time, before they take me out. Plus, my ribs feel like their cracked, so just moving is .

Doyle is going on some philosophical speech about humans need for survival, which I'm sure is very impressive, but I shut that out, still desprately searching the room. I look at his thug again ("my informant", I hiss under my breath), and see that his own 9mm is tucked into his trousers. If I can get to that, then I may stand a chance.

I turn my attention back to Doyle, who looks as if he's concluding his speech, and I begin to listen to his rubbish. Makes me wish I could rip his tongue out. Now that would shut him up. Anyway, if I can just be alone with the traitor…

" Now then, Oscar, me fr'nd over there is going to shoot yae, yae will die, and I will leave. Simple, yes? By the way, thanks for the ration cards you gave me as payment, there never were any guns. Bae!" He walks across the room and exits via the door. His thug looks at me, and I ask:

" Can I least stand up?"

He grunts, and for a moment I'm fearful he'll refuse, but he gestures to me to get up, going for his 9mm.

"Don't talk much do you? S'pose you didn't even when you were my informant…"

He grunts again, and points his pistol at me. I take my chance, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. He loses his balance and falls forward. As he falls, my eyes scan for a weapon around the room, eyes resting on a metel pipe next to the sofa. I run for it, chest burning each step, and hear the thug behind me get back up. Use the pain!

I grab the pipe, just in time to hear the click of his piece. Knowing I have mere seconds, I turn around and throw the pipe at him. It hits him in the face, knocking him back once more. He fire shots into the air as he falls, and I dash once more toward him, taking advantage of his momentary daze. I grab the pipe, which had landed at his feet, and climb on top of the thug, and begin to pummel his face. He tries to shield his face with his arms, but I continue to swing my pipe. After what was maybe 15 minutes of swinging, all that's left is a headless body, with his head being scattered all over. I inhale the smell of his Blood, savoring the burn. But it's not who I want. I want to Doyle to be the corpse in front of me, not just his thug.

I reach into my satchel, and pull out my 9mm. I know Doyle. He'll wait for his thug on the street, and considering the military presence; he'll probably be with them.

I get up, injecting myself with a painkiller from my bag, wary of my ribs. He'll be in the street with the humvee's. This ends now.

I stumble out of the abandoned apartment block's doors. Night had fallen, and I found myself stumbling with new purpose, my 9mm in my hand. At the moment, the road is deserted, until I see a light from the alley I emerged from earlier. The humvees are gone, so the military must have left. Perfect.

The light reveals itself to be a match, lighting Cravitch's cigarette. He appears unaware that I'm not his thug, asking:

" Is it done?"

Nearly shouting in rage, I reply " Looks like you didn't expect me, did it!?"

He closes his eyes, as if in exasperation, and replies " of coose I ken it's you, I saw you when ye left," he coughs, and drops his cigarette on the floor. Behind me, I hear the clicking of assault rifles. Turning around, I see a squad of Soldiers pointing their weapons at me. Shit, they were quiet.

Cravitch once again asks " Is it done, is me thug dead? I dina like loose ends" I turn around, and I say yes, my rage building up further. All I want now is him dead at my feet.

Cravitch walks towards me, a vicious grin on his face. " Laddie, there be two ways out. Either y'r stupid and try something, and my friends over there shoot you, or you come with me, to discuss 'business'. Ye the k'nd of Psycho I want. Whatya say, laddie?"

He wants me to join his organization? Seriously? Is he fucking serious? He's taken me this far on a goose chase, and now he wants me to work for him? Although… this is a brilliant opportunity. A chance to build a life after the apocalypse. The whole house, Kids and murder deal! Wait…that's a terrible idea!

"Fuck you"

I fire 3 shots from my 9mm. It begins to rain. Blood spurts out from his wounds, and I begin to laugh manically. At last. I watch his body lie still on the concrete, with a blood pool spreading around him mixing with the rain.

I hear the rifles behind me open fire, and feel the bullets hit me in a rather abstract manner, still laughing. Its as if I'm in a dream. The bullets stop a few moments later, and my vision steadily fades to black. I hear the squad behind me speak into their radios, requesting a clean up crew, harmonizing with a cascade of thunder.

I use the last of my strength to turn over, to lie on my back. I want to pick up my 9mm and empty it in the soldiers' direction, but I have no energy left. I groan I annoyance.

One of the squad moves toward me. It's the soldier from the checkpoint. He points his gun at me, and I'm staring down its barrel, unable to even speak to protest. Fuck.

He whispers, " Sleep tight, Oscar. You'll need it." Why does he whisper? Is this some solemn occasion for him? Wait, if I'm dying, why do I need sleep? What the fuck is he talking about? How does he know my name?

The gunshot is the last thing I hear as my vision finally goes black.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:Rewritten the first chapter. it's now 'Remastered' in the words of Naughty Dog...**


	2. Military Manoeuvres

The Gherkin

London

18:37 GMT

2037

4 Days and 23 hours before Oscar Firebrand's apprehension.

The office was dark. It carried the grime of over 20 years of usage, and the glass exterior was extremely cracked. The only light, now the sun had set, was two flickering lamps suspended off the roofs, powered by the ailing power supply to the Building, illuminating rows of desks. These desks all had large filing cabinets near them, and many of the desks themselves were overflowing with papers, of many different types- some loose pieces of reports, some files issued by the WHO pre-pandemic and others being intelligence of varying subjects, from the infection's symptoms to the political manoeuvres thanks to the pandemic, from sources such as FEDRA, MI6 and the WHO. It closely resembled the offices set up during the pandemic to try and organize a response, except less panicked and loud. One could be forgiven in assuming the Office was an abandoned relic of humanity's last days as the dominant species of the earth.

But a small glow, from the office desk nearest the exterior glass wall of the building, behind a small pane of glass to separate it from the rest of the world, suggested differently. It was a small mini-room, bare except for the desk, which was in an orderly state in contrast to the cluttered desks of the main room, and a shotgun, a Remington, which was hung up on the only solid wall the mini room had access to.

A woman sat on a plastic chair, smoking a cigarette slowly, clearly lost in thought, looking at a report on her desk. The report was filled with wanted posters and intelligence reports about various persons within the Quarantine Zone. All of them known to traverse the Parasite-stricken wastes outside the Walls. All qualified for missions outside the Zone. Codenamed Trespassers.

After reading and smoking late into the night, disregarding the passage of time, the women rose from her reading. She walked out of her Self-Contained office, across the old office to the radio set at the back of the room, in a small sound proof cubicle. After turning the set on, she picked up the old, worn headset and begun to speak after selecting the frequency.

"Mike Romeo Foxtrot four four sierra, this is Mike Romeo Foxtrot one Alpha, do you read me?"

A small pause followed, before a response came from the radio, as a tired voice replied, "One Alpha this is four four sierra, check concluded, message is running silent. Pleasure speaking to you Brigadier Chambers."

"Thank you" the brigadier replied in a voice filled with authority," I have read the report you sent me in regards to the Trespassers. I've decided on whom to bring in."

"Certainly ma'am, unfortunately we may have to re-evaluate though." Said the man.

"Why?" demanded the brigadier. "That report was solid Intel 12 hours ago, what happened in that time to change that?" She was not one to allow inconsistencies in her intelligence without good reason, and no reason for the apparent compromise of Data had crossed her desk all day.

"Well ma'am, there were wall breaches throughout Sector 2 by runners. The zone has since been cleared and secured after I sent the 221st Rifles in, but we have confirmed the deaths of nearly all of the trespassers in the in the sector, and that makes up around 80% of the list. One or two are MIA, but we believe their dead or outside the zone. Don't get your hopes up, we know this world."

The Brigadier simply sat, stunned for a moment, as the news sank in. After a moment though, she slammed a fist into the side of the cubicle, yelling in frustration. "Why didn't this go to me? I'm trying to run a fucking quarantine Zone, stopping the place turning into an even worse hell than it already is, have a civilian population to try and pacify, and now it appears that major military actions no longer require my authorization. Would you please explain that Major Koenig?"

"Yes, well ma'am…"

"Explain!"

"Ok ma'am!" the major took a breath," The orders went through me instead of you. I was closer, as it's my sector you appointed me to govern, so I took it on myself to deal with it. You had left orders to not be disturbed unnecessarily."

"And this was unnecessary?"The brigadier simply sighed." Major Koenig, see me in my office tomorrow at 0900, understand?"

"But ma'am-"

"No buts! Anyway, which trespassers have we still got eyes-on? Or has some other 'unimportant' disaster killed them?" She took out another cigarette out of her pocket, and proceeded to light it, striking the match against the table on which the radio rested.

"Well ma'am, we are still getting reports from Corporal Lance, who's following Maria Thrax."

The Brigadier took a look at her file, and saw the page was full of escapades-mostly assassinations." So, we have ourselves a hitman? The fact we've been able to track her escapades and movements all in the last week means she's easy to observe. We need an unknown. Someone barely in the file."

"What about Hank Leeming ma'am? I have barely any information on him, and the man I've assigned to follow him has lost him after he went into the Manufacture district 2 days ago."

"How can we bring in someone if we can't locate them? And the manufacture district is in sector two. Could be dead, could have left the Zone."

"Ok ma'am, our last choice is Oscar Firebrand. From what we've gathered, he's a narcotics smuggler."

The Brigadier turned to his file in the report, and was surprised to find it blank. It contained a photo, his listing as extremely dangerous and his known crimes-narcotic smuggling and 1 case of unproved homicide. Most of the page was blank, and barring the extremely dangerous listing, he appeared a simple petty criminal. Perfect.

"Have we got a location on him at the moment?"

"He's at the edge of the Zone 3 wall, the Great Ormond Street Hospital, for a fungal scan."

"Excellent, Follow him and stop him at the first possible opportunity. We'll bring him in."

She turned the set off before major Koenig could reply, and dropped her now burnt out cigarette. She stood up, and walked briskly back to her office. She sat at her desk, and looked at the items left unopened. One was a letter from an arms dealer the army was close to, called Doyle Cravitch, requesting military protection. She disregarded it swiftly, having no resources to give to him thanks to the increased supply runs she was being forced to authorise. It was put in the recycling tray only half read; he's friendly with the brigade over the red light district, near the Barbican Centre. He can go whinge to them. The other was a simple memo from the stations Warrant officer about standards. "It may be the apocalypse", it said, "But that does not mean you can look like an apocalypse! Get your uniform in good state for an inspection tomorrow at 1500".

She turned her chair around to face the window, wanting to reflect. She gazed out on the zone, being situated on the most eastern point before the wall, and reached for another cigarette. She crossed her legs, and took a walkie talkie out of her uniform pocket.

"Captain Anders?"

"Yes ma'am." The response was instantaneous.

"I'm having a meeting with Major Koenig tomorrow at 0900, to discuss the next phase of Operation Dark Heart. I want you there, because at the conclusion of our apprehension of the target, I want Koenig eliminated. He's developing a worrying power-hoarding feeling over control of his sector. Could possibly be mutinous. Eliminate him when I say once the target is aquired and you can expect a promotion."

"Yes ma'am, an accident?"

"Yes, make it an accident."

"Wilco ma'am, out."

Yes, it was all coming together.

* * *

><p><span>The Gherkin<span>

London

2037

22:57

2 Hours and 43 minutes after Oscar's Shooting

"Major Koenig, you better have a fucking good reason why my chosen Man had to receive a medi-vac out of the area after he was shot by our men god knows how many times? His chances of survival are slim to none."

"Why not give the lethal morphine shot like me do all those at this point?" Asked Koenig, the major who was normally tall and proud, yet now cowering into his plastic chair, slightly afraid. Next to him sat a man in a combat uniform, orange gun range glasses shielding his eyes. He gave no name.

"HQ up in Newcastle radioed me yesterday. They want him, no-one else, since no-one knows much about him, except for some-grisly rumours. A ghost. And I'm done for if he dies. As long as he has a chance, he's staying alive. If it wasn't for Anders being on Checkpoint duty and seeing him, telling me then shadowing him, he'd be dead. Anders had to inject, well, shoot him with a tranquilizer to slow his heart, and reduce the blood loss and internal bleeding till the medics got there. So I want a bloody explanation!"

"Ok ma'am, it appears that one of our arms dealers, Doyle Cravitch, had double crossed Firebrand on a weapon deal, so Oscar killed him, despite being covered by a squad from the 21st Brigade we have stationed there."

"Was this an off-the-books squad? Who gave them clearance to operate with Cravitch?"

"I did ma'am" admitted Koenig."Cravitch only mentioned he was being hunted, not who was hunting him, so I gave authorisation for protection."

"Fuck the accident; get rid of the mutinous scum"

"What?"

The major never got an answer, as the soldier next to him stood up, pulled out a Glock 22 and shot two bullets into the major's head. Koenig didn't have time to react.

The main office's workers all ducked at the two gunshots, but continued work once they had seen what had happened. They knew better than to ask questions.

The soldier turned to Brigadier Chambers, stowing away his pistol once again into the holster." Good Anders," Congratulated the Brigadier, "You now have a promotion".Anders simply nodded, briefly saying  
>"Thank you".<p>

"Now, I want you to go down to the hospital we have Firebrand. Ensure he is restrained, and if anything happens tell me, and prep him for transport. I'll want to speak to him"

"Yes ma'am, which hospital?"

"The university College Hospital in sector 5. And remember 'Major' Anders, I've heard he's a psychopath, so if he wakes up, make sure your security is ready. He won't exactly like the people who shot him, will he?"

Anders nodded, and briskly left the office, calling for a jeep to pick him up.

* * *

><p>WHO: World Health Organization<p>

FEDRA: FEderal Disaster and Response Agency

MI6: Military Intelligence 6


End file.
